rison through which Darnay sometimes
found a chance to look, and from which he could see one dingy street
corner. On this corner, every afternoon, Lucie took her station for
hours, rain or shine. She never missed a day, and thus at long intervals
her husband got a view of her.

So months passed till a year had gone. All the while Doctor Manette, now
become a well-known figure in Paris, worked hard for Darnay's release.
And at length his turn came to be tried and he was brought before the
drunken, ignorant men who called themselves judge and jury.

He told how he had years before renounced his family and title, left
France, and supported himself rather than be a burden on the peasantry.
He told how he had married a woman of French birth, the only daughter of
the good Doctor Manette, whom all Paris knew, and had come to Paris now
of his own accord to help a poor servant who was in danger through his
fault.

The story caught the fancy of the changeable crowd in the room. They
cheered and applauded it. When he was acquitted they were quite as
pleased as if he had been condemned to be beheaded, and put him in a
great chair and carried him home in triumph to Lucie.

There was only one there, perhaps, who did not rejoice at the result,
and that was the cold, cruel wife of the wine seller, Madame Defarge,
who had knitted the name "Evremonde" so many times into her knitting.

III

SYDNEY CARTON'S SACRIFICE

That same night of his release all the happiness of Darnay and Lucie was
suddenly broken. Soldiers came and again arrested him. Defarge and his
wife were the accusers this time, and he was to be retried.

The first one to bring this fresh piece of bad news to Mr. Lorry was
Sydney Carton, the reckless and dissipated young lawyer. Probably he had
heard, in London, of Lucie's trouble, and out of his love for her, which
he always carried hidden in his heart, had come to Paris to try to aid
her husband. He had arrived only to hear, at the same time, of the
acquittal and the rearrest.

As Carton walked along the street thinking sadly of Lucie's new grief,
he saw a man whose face and figure seemed familiar. Following, he soon
recognized him as the English spy, Barsad, whose false testimony, years
before in London, had come so near convicting Darnay when he was tried
for treason. Barsad (who, as it happened, was now a turnkey in the very
prison where Darnay was confined) had left London to become a spy in
France, first o